“Abandoned…but…”
Finn stopped, shaking his head. He didn’t bother to ask how Will knew. The man seemed to know everything he wanted. Or at least what he needed.
“He took your letters. He took hers.” Will shrugged. “He planned it to the last detail, even knowing just how long to wait to make her start to wonder. He planted the seeds of doubt early on, and even before that, he’d let her know how he felt. He was subtle.”
“Incubae don’t know what subtle is,” Finn said, shaking his head.
Will didn’t respond.
Slowly, Finn turned, stared at the other man. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Long, heavy moments of silence passed. It could have been moments—it could have been hours. But each heartbeat drew Finn tighter and tighter. When Will finally turned to look at him, Finn’s nerves were drawn too tight and his skin felt sunburnt from the effort it took to keep himself locked down.
“You were too young,” Will said, his voice low. “You were too young and too new and you didn’t feel it. The fact that you even recognized Sawyer as broken was amazing—of course, you knew him from before and you likely saw the wrongness in him because of that. But he wasn’t the only demon we’d gone there to face. Once you were in stasis, Sina and I went after the other one. She was the one who had the most influence on the girl. Apparently she’d been working with Sawyer. If it hadn’t been for her, the incubae wouldn’t have even found his way into town.”
Her—
Finn roared and spun away, going to his knees and plunging his hands into the earth.
There, he unleashed.
The fire flowed deep, deep, deep—
The scent of scorched earth flood his head and he sucked in air, fought to control it.
Head spinning, he opened his eyes.
Around him, birds sang.
Off in the distance, he could hear the river.
The footsteps were nearly soundless and Finn found himself eyeing the white toes of Will’s boots while he continued to fight for air. “Her…” he panted, memory raging inside him. “It was her mother.”
“Yes.”
Jerking his hands out of the ground, he rose. The air smoked, steamed. The fire had cooled to something almost manageable and he felt empty, almost numb. His legs were stiff and he practically stumbled as he moved a few feet away.
“She was the one who told me I should go, make my mark and better myself if I truly wanted to be worthy of her daughter,” Finn said, looking down at his hands, streaked with dirt but unmarred. He’d damn neared killed himself trying to make his mark. Trying to make himself worthy.
“She wanted you out of the picture. That town was to be her hunting ground, but you were always picking up the pieces, stopping fights…starting them.” Will paused. “You were always the hero type, Thom.”
Finn growled under his breath.
“It’s the truth and you know it. You’d rescue a cat from a tree, put yourself between a town drunk and his wife even when you were nothing but a scrawny bit of nothing.” Will paused. “I should know. I was watching you even then.”
“Too bad you didn’t show up a little sooner.” Finn’s bitterness was going to choke him. “We could have saved her, and maybe even me.”
It wasn’t his fate to be saved, though. Not if Will had been watching him.
What a bitch to know all of this.
Why had he even asked?
It tormented him. Even now. To think that maybe, just maybe, she could have been saved. That maybe he could have some time with her, a life with her.
That if evil hadn’t been lurking at the shadows of his life or maybe if he’d been more wary, from the beginning, he would have been there when that evil came to call.
And he could have had some sort of life to look back on. Instead of this…nothingness.
“Finn. Isn’t it time to let it go? You’ve come too far to lose yourself to a memory,” Will said, his words little more than a whisper on the air.
“A memory.” He turned away from Will.
That was what Will didn’t understand.
She was more than a memory to him, and always had been.
He all but ached for want of her. He couldn’t make himself believe that she was truly gone. Never mind that he’d stood at the side of her grave as she was lowered down in the waiting earth.
Once it was done, the world had gone dark as he slid into a deep, mindless sleep that had lasted almost three weeks.
It wasn’t until later that he realized he shouldn’t have come back into the world, wings or no, the way he had. A newly made Grimm was weak and while a new one might not immediately collapse into sleep, within hours, they usually succumb to that deep, dreamless sleep, one that could last hours, or days…and it took weeks or longer to grow into any measure of strength.
Finn practically set the world around him on fire only moments after his return into this life.
Those early days were surreal to him, never fully connecting in his mind.
Maybe that was why he had a hard time believing she was really gone.
So much more than a memory, but that was all she’d ever be.
A memory…who even now haunted his dreams, twining there with all the mistakes, all the times he’d failed.
“Can we go crazy?”
It was hours later, and the question caught Will off-guard.
They sat in what could only be described as a dive, but it was the safest sort of place. People made it a habit to ignore others in a place like this and that made it absolutely perfect.
The bar was also loud and crowded, so loud and so crowded that few people took notice of Finn. Will didn’t entirely escape, but he never did.
He hadn’t yet been able to approach just why he was here. Some of his Grimm required gentler handling than others. Handling Finn was like handling a fragmented robin’s egg.
One that could light up the world around him like an inferno in the blink of an eye.
His gut had been whispering to him about Finn for months. He’d been restless, edgy for years and it was getting worse as he neared one of his black spells, when his temper would flare and the fire would burn and Will might have to make a choice.
He wasn’t ready to do that.
He’d only had to do it three times in all his centuries—two thousand years now. It had been brutal each time and he wasn’t ready to do it again. But that was a duty he could never ready himself for.
Can we go crazy…?
Finn would ask it here. Lowering his head, Will closed his eyes. Understanding brushed a deadly kiss against his skin. It was time. Again. He’d suspected, even though he’d hoped otherwise.
He’d been watching, and waiting. Hoping it was done, that the boy would have peace.
But hope was a fragile, and in his case often fruitless, thing to wish for.
Finn didn’t understand the play that was reenacting itself before him lifetime after lifetime, but Will did.
He hadn’t figured it out until after the last time, when it was too late. He’d figured it out, but not in time.
He’d learned though, had finally understood.
Since then, he’d done what he could to learn more, taking all the gifts he generally considered useless and making them not useless, as he dug his way through death, time and the mind itself until he pieced it together.
Not all of it.
He couldn’t grab it all. Most of his Grimm, he could see inside them enough to see what needed to be seen.
Finn had a head like a rock, though, and Will’s chances to grab the memories he needed were limited to the times when the young Grimm slid into stasis. Sadly with Finn, that happened often. He was reckless and had no regard for his own life. That led to injuries sometimes.
That wasn’t correct. With Finn, i
t often led to injuries and although it took years, decades in fact, Will had enough pieces to form a picture.
She was looking for him.
It might have been enough to give him hope—almost as if God was giving the boy a gift.
Will knew better than to hope, though. Every time she found Finn, it was too late. She had a knack for ending up in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he always found her too late. Sometimes he found her just at the edge of death and other times, he was forced to watch the killing blow.
Yet some part of him recognized her. Recognized her soul once it hit this world—those decades were the ones when his moods were the most mercurial, and as it drew closer and closer for their ill-fated reunion, the fire that fueled Finn’s rage swelled almost to its breaking point.
But not this time.
Will was going to find her on his own. He even had a sense of where to look. He’d find her, by following the tug he could sense in Finn’s gut and he’d be the one to kill her.
The boy could have a few years of peace and maybe if he did, he could break free from this cursed loop.
Nursing what had to be the worst beer he’d ever tasted, Will flicked Finn a bored look. He’d had lifetimes to perfect that look.
“Of course we can go crazy. You passed that point years ago. Why do you ask?”
Lies, coddling and mollifying the boy would serve him no purpose.
Deal with him as he always had, and then send him out on a job.
That was why he was here, after all.
Finn snorted, an almost amused glint in his eyes. “Well, at least you admit it.” Then he reached for the glass in front of him, tossed back the whiskey, hard and fast. “I…” He stopped, set the glass down with a clink. “I have dreams.”
Dreams. Only the years behind Will allowed him to hide his reaction. Turning his head, he met Finn’s eyes. “We do still dream, Finn. We haven’t lost that much of our humanity.”
Well, Will had. He doubted it was because of his lost humanity, though. Dreams offered solace and respite. Those were things lost to him.
But the rest of them?
Finn sighed and linked his hands, pressed them to his brow. He sat there, as though he prayed. In the middle of the crowded, noisy bar, he sat lost in a silence all his own. Finally, he turned and looked at Will.
“I dream of her. And the…” He closed his eyes. “The others. The times I’ve messed up. They haunt me, Will.”
“Why would they not?” Will made his tone cool. “We’re here to protect mortals. When we stop caring about those we didn’t protect, then we’re done.”
Brooding, Finn stared at nothing. “Like Ira.”
“Ira.” Will rubbed his brow. “Yes, like Ira.”
Finn closed a hand into a fist. “Sometimes I worry I’m becoming too much like him.”
Will could see that worry, how it rode on the boy, and he wondered how much of that fear had to do with the darkness that always rode inside the reckless angel.
Too many looked at Finn and saw a man with a cocky smile and wild way about him and they didn’t realize just what lay below the surface. After some of the mistakes that lay in Finn’s past, perhaps they had reason to worry.
Finn, after all, was one of the very few who had an ability that would let him kill another Grimm—with ease. And he’d done it, when he’d been only a few decades old.
Some thought Will should have taken his wings and sent him onto a real, and lasting, death.
But they hadn’t realized what all had transpired that fateful night.
“You’re not like Ira, Finn,” Will said slowly. “If anything, you care too much. You can’t shed the weight of your past and every mortal you fail and you carry those deaths around like a chain to drag you down.”
“As I should.”
“At some point, you need to let the guilt go.” Will studied the bar in front of them instead of looking at the man as his side. None knew the weight of guilt as he did. “Or it will drive you mad. And no, you’re not there. Not yet, at any rate. Above all, while there are mistakes, you can’t forget the lives you saved. Or that he was the one who turned his back on his duty. You tried to save them, Finn. You tried. In the end, as strong as we are, as many gifts as we are given, we are not perfect. All we can do is try. And you did.”
The words weren’t as reassuring as Finn would like to hear, Will imagined. But after a moment, the other man nodded and lowered his hands, looking to the bartender.
After he had another whiskey in front of him, he looked at Will. “Not that I’m not delighted to see you,” Finn said caustically, “but just why are you here?”
“Because I have a job for you.” Will slid him a look, gauged him within a moment. Steadier now. Steadier than he’d been in a few days, he suspected. Maybe Will hadn’t given him comfort, but Finn didn’t seek comfort. All he needed was a reason to continue the fight.
Finn slid him a look, his melted copper eyes flashing. “I thought I wasn’t trusted to handle assignments for the time being.”
“This is easy enough for you and you’re one of the few I have available.” Will kept his voice level, his expression blank. “I need somebody to follow up on it. You’re the only one with the ability handle the outbreak if the problem has returned. I’m going to have to trust you to control yourself.” He slanted a look at him. “Can I?”
Finn’s hand tightened around his empty glass. Then he looked up, called out for the hulking brute behind the bar. “I need another.”
The man lumbered down, eyeing Finn skeptically. “You’ve already had four, kid. I’d rather not get my ass sued when they have to scrape you off the pavement.”
Will bit back a snort of amusement. Life had been easier when people minded their own business, when people didn’t think they could sue for simply being stupid.
Finn’s eyes flashed an ominous gold.
Behave, Will snapped with a mental slap.
Finn didn’t flinch although Will had hit him with enough psychic force to hurt. A lot.
Keeping his voice mild, Will leaned forward, catching the bartender’s eye. “He can hold his liquor. You needn’t worry about a lawsuit. We’ll give you cash for the bottle and you should forget you saw us,” he said, the compulsion sliding out of him as easily as a human would expel air.
The man’s eyes took on a glassy look.
Not even a minute passed before the bottle came down on the bar top in front of them and the cash was tucked away inside the contraption behind the bar.
“Jedi mind tricks,” Finn muttered, his voice still pulsing with anger.
A few years ago, the pop culture reference would have confused him, but Mandy had been rather insistent that he move into the current millennium. Lifting his shoulder, Will glanced over at Finn. “‘These are not the droids you’re looking for…’ That’s the correct line, isn’t it?”
Finn squinted at him. “I’d almost swear you were possessed. But that’s not possible.”
Will tapped the bottle. “If you want it bad enough to piss him off, drink on up.”
Finn knocked back two more shots before he spoke again. “Just where am I going?”
“Scotland.”
Scotland.
Finn stared at Will, thought of things he didn’t want to think of. Of pale skin dusted with freckles and determined eyes. Of yet another he had failed. His hand clenched into a fist as heat started to spread through his veins, his skin burning hotter and hotter. Red shifted, formed, swirled, like an imaginary fire under his skin. He grabbed that heat, cooled it before it could spiral out of control and then he turned his head, met Will’s eyes.
“No.”
“You don’t have a choice.” Will’s silver eyes were unrelenting and his voice was harder than granite. “I need somebody there and it will be you.”
Stari
ng into those eyes that might have never been human, Finn fought the urge to grab the man and smash him against something. Will knew how much Finn hated that place, hated the despair he’d witness there…knew of his failures.
And he didn’t care.
“I hate Scotland.”
“You hate almost everything, Finn.” Will shrugged, lifted a shoulder as though he was unperturbed by the thought. “I could send you to Alaska—there’s a similar problem going on the Aleutian Islands and you would complain because it is cold. No. You’re going to Scotland. That’s where I need you. You’re familiar with the area—”
“It’s been seventy years!”
Will just looked at him.
“Exactly.” As Finn turned his head and focused on the bottle in front of him, Will continued to speak. “It’s been seventy years, time enough for you to move on. You’re familiar with the area, and you, more than most, will be able to get yourself out of a tight spot should there be a need for concern.”
“Why? Why the fuck are you doing this to me?” he demanded, his voice rising, loud enough that a few of the mortals around them shot them curious glances.
“Yes, let’s make this discussion interesting enough that I have to wipe minds when I leave,” Will said, sliding Finn a dark look.
Finn had no psychic abilities at all. It was a rare thing because most Grimm had at least a base ability even if it was weak, the ability to send out a silent summons, or the ability erase a few moments from a human memory. It was a huge pain in the ass too. With his ability, and his lack of other abilities, he could use that handy little skill.
Instead, he called fire like he was a walking, talking matchstick—the kind that never, ever went out.
But that was pretty much it. Oh, he was just as strong, just as fast as any other Grimm. He had the healing abilities. But he couldn’t reach out and touch someone, so to speak, the way his brothers-and-sisters-in-arms could. The only one he could contact as needed was Will. Will was the last one he wanted to chat with.
Sliding Will a narrow look, he tossed back another shot of whiskey. “Well, I’d be happy to be quiet…cooperative even. If I don’t have to do this.”
“You’re the only option.” Will leaned forward, his eyes locked on some spot on the wall. “You’re going because I’ve now heard of three different cases where people have gone missing—two families and a group of college kids. The college kids and one of the families had gone to Buchanan Castle—or that was the report and there was evidence people had been there. The other family disappeared off the A75. We’ve dealt with trouble there before. We’re not doing it again.”
Furious Fire: Grimm's Circle, Book 8 Page 3